Cages
by LafieTries
Summary: Alfred has spent to long in his own personal a Hell and now he's loosing his mind, but maybe going crazy isn't so bad when you have as active an imagination as Alfred, and who knows, if he tries hard enough, maybe he can imagine his way to a different reality.
1. Chapter 1

Alfred was losing his mind. He'd thought that it would be less painful then it was, his heart and mind shouldn't have hurt so much for something as simple as going insane, and yet night after night, as he lay strapped to his bed, all he could think of was the migraines, and the strange aching in his chest.

The one thing that changed the monotony of his existence was the angry little man that wandered around his room. He'd asked the scientists about him once and they'd asked him all sorts of questions; it was the first time that any of them had spoken to him. He immediately decided that he wouldn't tell them anything about the strange visitor; they were so interested in this man then telling them nothing was the only form of rebellion that Alfred had left.

After spending so much time locked away in this room, everything kind of blurred together, but he saw the man before him in so much detail that it made his head ache more than it already did, and even though he knew he must be hallucinating, he couldn't help but admire the image his mind had fabricated. Soft messy hair framed startled eyes and angry eyebrows and Alfred could make out the thin veins beneath the pale skin of the man's hands. He had to admit that he hadn't expected himself to make something so detailed and perfect, most of his thoughts were lazy and half finished before he became bored with them, so it was surprising even to himself that he'd thought something out so thoroughly.

Even though Alfred knew the stranger wasn't really there he couldn't help but reach out to touch him when he wandered surprisingly close to his bedside. Alfred couldn't move his wrists very much, but he wriggled around and stretched out his fingers as far as they would go and just managed to brush the edge of the man's jacket. He hadn't been expecting much, but he was surprised to feel just the slightest hint of cloth brushing his fingers, in fact he was pretty sure he had imagined it, so he reached for it again, but the man moved away.

Alfred huffed in irritation and glared toward the man. Even if he was just something Alfred had fabricated to entertain himself, the least the man could've done would've been to stay close long enough for Alfred to determine just how realistic his hallucination was, but no, he didn't even seem to notice that Alfred was there. Rude.

It was then that Alfred realized that the man was pacing. He watched the figure move back and forth at the foot of his bed and occasionally up the side again. Alfred tried to touch him again but he was never quite close enough. He sighed and finally gave up, his wrist was sore and staring at the man made his chest tighten and his head hurt. Still, he couldn't quite take his eyes off the man's irritated expression. Alfred couldn't help but wonder why he seemed so frustrated. He watched for a while, but eventually his eyelids drooped and he fell asleep unwillingly.

When Alfred woke up the next day, the man was gone. To be honest he was a bit disappointed. It looked like it was going to be another bleak day of blurry machinery and silent doctors. He turned to the blank faced young lady who was currently replacing his IV. "Hey, do you think you could at least dye whatever's in those bags different colors or something?" He used his chin to gesture to the clear bag of fluid she replaced on the hanger next to him. As usual he was met with silence. "If you could dye them green or blue or something then I'd at least have _something_ new to look at." The woman didn't so much as glance at him.

These people were like machines. In all the time he'd been here he had yet to see one of them so much as tweak a smile, and his jokes weren't that bad! Actually he had to admit, he had told some pretty horrible ones if only to get a reaction. He was quickly running out of material though.

The woman left and Alfred was left to entertain himself again. This was what drove Alfred mad, the never ending silence. He would've thought that the machines would've made some kind of noise, clicking or beeping or _something,_ or that the IV would've made some kind of dripping noise, but once that door slid shut, there was nothing but silence and Alfred quickly found out that silence can be excruciatingly loud. So Alfred devised a game for himself. He made up his own noises, and they were much better than some beeping heart monitor. For instance, he liked to pretend that all the green and blue lights that flashed on the giant machine to his left were actually fireworks, so everytime one of them blinked it sounded like an explosion. He gave everything a sound. The IV purred at him like a kitten and his pillows sang lullabies to him, the giant mirror across the room from him mocked him, and soon even the camera spying on him from the corner was playing the mission impossible theme. In short it was chaos, but it was better than nothing.

He had been playing this game and a few others on and off for days now and had never once been interrupted. The doctors or scientist or whatever they were, seemed to know when he was playing one of his mind games because they never bothered him while he was entertaining himself. So it was no small shock when everything suddenly went silent except for a soft clinking. Alfred's eyes flew open and he stared at the ceiling. He couldn't remember assigning anything in the room that particular noise. He turned his head to find the source, and was only vaguely surprised at what he saw.

Sitting next to his bed on a ridiculously comfy looking recliner and holding a cup of tea, was the man from yesterday. For a moment Alfred just stared. He wasn't really sure, but it seemed the other man was staring back. He was wrong of course, because two seconds later the man closed his eyes and took a delicate sip of his tea. Alfred couldn't help himself, "You're so _british."_ he scoffed. The phrase popped out of his mouth before he could think about it. The man looked startled, Alfred suddenly occurred to him that the man in his head might actually be able to hear him. He opened his mouth to speak again, but then he remembered the camera. He glared at it. If he spoke to the man sitting across from him then he'd be giving these people exactly what they wanted.

Alfred hadn't had any human contact for ages, and the one thing he craved was to have someone that would talk to him, or at least _react_ to him. So what if it was some made up person in his head? At least it was something. At least it wasn't silence. Besides, wouldn't talking to someone be it's own form of rebellion? They obviously meant for him to be completely alone, so wouldn't they just hate it if Alfred had someone that they couldn't ever take away from him?

"Hey you." The man jumped again and nearly spilt his tea, Alfred snorted and couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so easily, He must really be losing it. "So you _can_ hear me then." The british man looked around confusedly and put a hand to his forehead. "trust me bro, I'm the one going crazy here, not you."

 **Thanks for reading guys, let me know if you liked it, hated it, or have any thoughts. If you want me to continue it, then I need to hear from you.**

 **-Lafie**


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur was sure that he had lost his mind when he'd decided to become a writer. He wasn't necessarily a high maintenance person, but he liked nice things and expensive tea and the likelihood that he would make enough money to sustain his usual way of life was miniscule. If that hadn't been enough, he _knew_ that he'd lost it when he started working at a local fast food restaurant to support his "career." The place was slimy and disgusting; he hated every moment of it, but a man had to do what a man had to do, and there was no way that Arthur could go without his tea or the view over the city from the balcony of his apartment, so if Arthur had to flip burgers he'd do it, even if his dignity suffered for it.

When Arthur first heard the voice in his head he nearly wasted a perfectly good cup of tea. In short, he was very much not impressed. To be honest he wasn't really surprised, with his life going to hell why not throw in some pained voice from whatever demented part of his mind had made the rest of his life choices. Misery loves company after all.

No, Arthur wasn't surprised, he was startled and pissed off. "It's about damn time!" He yelled and slammed his teacup on the table harshly. He stood and started to pace angrily. He opened his mouth to yell again but what he heard made him pause. Was the voice...laughing? "Oooh no. No. No. NO. I do not need this from you! You can just shut your mouth absolute GIT."

"Dude, sorry I just wasn't expecting you to be so-" but Arthur could still hear the giggles he was trying so hard to suppress

"So what?" He cut off sharply, "Blunt? Angry? Just what were you expecting? I'm sure you're always spot on when you make judgments about people aren't you? I bet you think making me a writer was a bloody brilliant idea to, didn't you?" After all if this was a piece of his mind it must have been the stupidest part because it certainly sounded like a moron, he had an _american_ accent of all things, what part of his mind could've thought that that was a good idea?

"Dude, really? You're a writer? I hadn't expected that, but that's awesome, you should read something to me!" Arthur nearly face palmed.

"You're me, you blithering idiot, you already know all of my stories." He huffed angrily. For once he was thankful that he lived alone, otherwise someone would be sending him to some psychologist that he couldn't afford.

"Well if I'm you, then you just called yourself an idiot." The voice giggled childishly

"Just shut up already, I'm not talking to you anymore! My life is crazy enough as it is, so I don't need your help, thank you very much!"

The voice quieted and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe that would be the end of it and he could go back to living his hellish life. He sat back down at his table at sipped at his tea. It had gone cold by now, and he pulled a face at the dulled taste.

"My name's Alfred by the way."

Arthur screeched and dropped his teacup. It shattered against the tiles of his kitchen and for a moment he just stared at it. "Get out of my head." He said flatly.

He waited twenty minutes to make sure the voice was gone and then got to work cleaning up the mess. It didn't take long, it wasn't as if it was the first teacup he'd ever broken after all, and when he was done he decided to write.

Arthur had been trying to get his novel published for over a year now, but apparently no one wanted to read a novel about faerie courts and froliking mythical creatures. "there's not enough action." they had said. "It just needs more excitement, something to keep the reader's attention." It was the same reply from publisher after publisher "Sorry, but it's just not for us." Arthur was beyond frustrated with them, but he'd finally admitted to himself that it just wasn't going to happen and that it was time to started on something else.

And that was how Arthur had ended up spending night after night staring at his blank computer screen and rewriting the same sentences over and over again, but never being satisfied with them. Tonight wasn't much different, except that Arthur couldn't think of anything worth while to even attempt to put to paper. It wasn't long before he was staring off into nothingness and thinking of the same, but his nothingness was interrupted by a noise. It sounded like someone was humming softly. Arthur stoically focused on the empty screen. If he was hearing Alfred again he was most definitely not going to say anything.

Despite what he told himself, Alfred scared him. Who wouldn't be scared if they started to hear voices that weren't really there? It sounded like some horribly written horror movie. Who knew, maybe Alfred would be giving him a black list next or telling him he needed to break someone out of jail. It wasn't healthy, and Arthur knew that he needed professional help. Hell would freeze over before he could afford such a thing though.

Arthur let his fingers trail over the keys of his laptop and puffed out a breath of air. He'd just have to deal with this mess himself, like he always did. "People aren't meant to be in cages." He stared at the words, and for a moment he didn't realize where they'd come from. He had to admit his interest was peaked. This didn't sound like the things that he wrote, this sounded more... raw, darker even. It reminded him of something one of his professors had once told him.

"As writer's you've all been told at some point or another to write what you know." she had started, "But to really captivate someone, you must write what frightens you." Arthur had hated the idea. The stories he wanted to write were stories that would comfort people, that would make them happy, not frighten them. He'd never taken the advice seriously before, but now that something frightening was staring him right in the face, he couldn't help but wonder. It was worth a shot wasn't it? He had nothing to lose at this point anyway.

"People aren't meant to be in cages." Maybe it was time that Arthur broke out of his.


End file.
